((this first post was originally posted in Vignettes, on March 8. I decided to make a separate thread for all of Crim?s visits with Ibis, so I?m moving it here))
The girl was dead, and her murderer had escaped. He was dimly aware of the blood soaking through his costume as he stepped into the building that passed for the coronor in Rhy'Din.
The gaunt man, with his long neck and bird-like face, looked up from his desk and spoke, "Right, then. What's this?" He placed his hands on the desk, pushing himself to his feet as he peered over his half-moon glasses at his visitor. "I see. Over here."
Crimson followed the man, lightly setting the body on the table as indicated. "She was killed in an alley. I...didn't get there in time. I don't know anything about her, but she should have a decent burial."
"I'll learn all I need to know, young man. Step aside." The man leaned over the girl's opened body, one thin hand coming up to remove his glasses. "I think the scales will tip in her favor."
"Scales?" Crim's brow furrowed, as he looked first to the girl, then to the elderly man standing over her. He though he saw a bird's beak superimposed over the man's face, for a moment. "What scales?"
"Don't you worry about that, boy," said the old man, with a kind smile and a look to the masked man. A nasally sound came forth. "Heh. You ever get tired of Hermes, let me know. Isis would like you." A wink, at that, before looking back to the corpse. The gesture, and the lightness of it, almost seemed right. Crimson felt better about the horror he had seen, watching this mortician, though he would never be able to say why. "For now, don't you worry about her. She's in good hands."
"How much, um, do you charge for...this sort of thing?" Crimson's fingers found the hidden pocket in his pants.
"Don't worry about her. And don't bore me with money. Go on." A hand came up, in a dismissive gesture. "Do what you do. And don't forget to stop for a drink. You look like you could use it."
"...I...right." Crim shook his head, quite confused, then turned to step out.
"Hey," the old man called. "You find any more, bring them here. And if you need to talk about death, don't be a stranger to old Ibis, you hear?"
He went to the Watch, and learned precisely what he expected to learn: nothing. There was no missing person matching the girl's description (she likely had not been missing, so that was no surprise), and they knew nothing about similar murders, at least not since the Ripper's last killing, and this did not seem at all to be his.
In the end, all he had managed to do was deliver a body to the coronor. He hadn't been able to help, and he had no way of tracking down any leads, as he had none. There was nothing he could have done, though, and he understood that. Much as he didn't like it, he did understand it. He went back to his room to clean up, then went to get that drink. Ibis was right, he sorely needed one.
*((the events in this post take place during the early evening of March 8))
The girl was dead, and her murderer had escaped. He was dimly aware of the blood soaking through his costume as he stepped into the building that passed for the coronor in Rhy'Din.
The gaunt man, with his long neck and bird-like face, looked up from his desk and spoke, "Right, then. What's this?" He placed his hands on the desk, pushing himself to his feet as he peered over his half-moon glasses at his visitor. "I see. Over here."
Crimson followed the man, lightly setting the body on the table as indicated. "She was killed in an alley. I...didn't get there in time. I don't know anything about her, but she should have a decent burial."
"I'll learn all I need to know, young man. Step aside." The man leaned over the girl's opened body, one thin hand coming up to remove his glasses. "I think the scales will tip in her favor."
"Scales?" Crim's brow furrowed, as he looked first to the girl, then to the elderly man standing over her. He though he saw a bird's beak superimposed over the man's face, for a moment. "What scales?"
"Don't you worry about that, boy," said the old man, with a kind smile and a look to the masked man. A nasally sound came forth. "Heh. You ever get tired of Hermes, let me know. Isis would like you." A wink, at that, before looking back to the corpse. The gesture, and the lightness of it, almost seemed right. Crimson felt better about the horror he had seen, watching this mortician, though he would never be able to say why. "For now, don't you worry about her. She's in good hands."
"How much, um, do you charge for...this sort of thing?" Crimson's fingers found the hidden pocket in his pants.
"Don't worry about her. And don't bore me with money. Go on." A hand came up, in a dismissive gesture. "Do what you do. And don't forget to stop for a drink. You look like you could use it."
"...I...right." Crim shook his head, quite confused, then turned to step out.
"Hey," the old man called. "You find any more, bring them here. And if you need to talk about death, don't be a stranger to old Ibis, you hear?"
He went to the Watch, and learned precisely what he expected to learn: nothing. There was no missing person matching the girl's description (she likely had not been missing, so that was no surprise), and they knew nothing about similar murders, at least not since the Ripper's last killing, and this did not seem at all to be his.
In the end, all he had managed to do was deliver a body to the coronor. He hadn't been able to help, and he had no way of tracking down any leads, as he had none. There was nothing he could have done, though, and he understood that. Much as he didn't like it, he did understand it. He went back to his room to clean up, then went to get that drink. Ibis was right, he sorely needed one.
*((the events in this post take place during the early evening of March 8))